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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26897320">what's the, er, rush?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/aboringcliche/pseuds/aboringcliche'>aboringcliche</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Clone High</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Depression, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Queen (Band) References, Underage Drinking, Underage Masturbation, Underage Sex, Underage Smoking, joan and jfk are best friends because i love their dynamic sm, joan is supportive as hell we love that, like ? do you have to be a certain age to masturbate, no abe society has passed the need for abe, underage everything !! where are their parents jeez, vinnie gets attached too easily, vinnie is a little out of character cause there isn't much of him in the show at ALL, whatever, why is that a tag tho</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:34:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,341</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26897320</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/aboringcliche/pseuds/aboringcliche</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>jfk needs a partner for the art project.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>JFGogh - Relationship, JFK/Vincent Van Gogh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>143</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. i'm only dancing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>his head in his hands, jfk stood up and ran out of the classroom dramatically, moments before the bell rang. he still couldn't believe poncey was gone. like, <em>gone</em>. even that genie that took his place had been missing for some time. jfk knew he had to accept it and move on, but <em>god</em> was that easier said than done.</p><p> especially at times like this. how was he meant to find a partner for this stupid project now? cleo was off with that abe guy, joan had gandhi, and anyone who was popular enough for him to hang out with or bang already had a partner, since they all wanted someone who was actually <em>good</em> at art, as in someone who could help them pass.</p><p> not only was jfk lonely without ponce, he was now reminded of how bad he was at art. great.</p><p> he was at a loss. on the one hand, he could ask one of the few people who didn't already have someone, and risk harming his reputation by picking someone unpopular. <em>or</em> he could do it by himself. he wasn't sure which was worse. ultimately though, he knew he would have to ask <em>someone</em>. at least he'd get an okay grade, right?</p><p> at least, that's what he told himself as he walked back into the classroom shamefully. he looked around the room at everyone who was sat alone. he was just about to give up, when he saw vincent staring back at him. <em>perfect</em>. not only was he alone, he was the clone of freaking <em>vincent van gogh.</em> jfk didn't know a lot about art, or whether or not clones actually inherited any of their clone-parents' skills, but it <em>had</em> to mean <em>something.</em></p><p> grinning with relief, jfk sucked up the last of his pride and approached vincent eagerly.</p><p> "hey, er, short-stack. vinnie, is it?" vince, or "vinnie", looked up and blushed. despite having been staring at jfk for a good few minutes, it was as if he hadn't noticed him approach. or maybe he just hadn't expected jfk to actually <em>talk</em> to him. either way, he felt his face burn up alright, and it took everything within his power to avoid looking away.</p><p> "oh, jfk." he said awkwardly, as if he could somehow pretend he hadn't been watching the guy. "didn't see you there. um, yeah vinnie is fine. i guess." he seemed to be blushing harder, which jfk either didn't notice or chose not to acknowledge.</p><p> "right. i er, uh, need a partner. for the project"</p><p> vince sighed with relief, as if he was expecting something else. "i... don't have anyone."</p><p> jfk winked, still somehow completely oblivious as to how much of a nervous wreck the guy in front of him was. "correction, pipsqueak. you have <em>me!</em>"</p><p> "i- okay! i mean, i've never really had a partner for these things, but sure! if you, you know, want a good grade i mean. i'm pretty good at this stuff, and it comes naturally to me or whatever." he laughed nervously, but it took him a while to realise he was babbling. "of course, if you wanna do some stuff for it too, then you totally can. that's, um, not a problem. not that i'm suggesting you'd be incapable! or anything like that! i just meant, you know, in case you needed someone to do all the work for you, then i'm your guy. well not <em>your</em> guy. but, um, you know what i mean." he finally stopped himself and managed to take a breath. somehow his face had turned an even brighter shade of red. "sorry. i do that sometimes. um. so, your place? later? to discuss the project i mean. i mean, or we could come to mine. i guess. that's cool too. but, like, i don't really have people over a lot. or ever, really. you'd, um, be the first one. but yeah, your place or mine? either is fine with me." he paused, expecting an answer. "jfk?"</p><p> jfk, who had barely been paying attenion, tuned back into the conversation. "hm? oh! er uh, my place? eight o clock?" vince nodded, and jfk leaned in a little closer and added "bring your, yaknow, art stuff." he punched the shorter guy on the shoulder lightheartedly, not realising he had hurt the guy. "wanna see your, er, previous work. later, little guy."</p><p> and with another punch on the shoulder, and a brief description of how to get to his house, jfk seemed to vanish into thin air.</p><p>━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━</p><p> so here's the thing. although even he could see why he would be perceived as such, vince was <em>not</em> a creep. believe it or not, he actually preferred being alone. there was something so appealing to him about sitting in the back of the classroom by himself all day, being at school for the sole purpose of learning, not to socialise or fuck around. he was just there to learn, and that was more than fine to him.</p><p> sure he envied the other kids, but he was perfectly happy by himself. he was sure he was. he never felt particularly sad when he saw people hang out in groups or wait for eachother to walk between classes together. jealous, maybe. but never sad. honestly, he found the entire concept of friendship fascinating. of course he had many friends as a little kid, because who didn't? but after a while he grew used to being alone, and by now he couldn't picture it any other way, which was part of the reason that he was so surprised when jfk asked him to be partners.</p><p> that, and how fucking <em>pretty</em> the guy is.</p><p> while vince wasn't exactly, like, <em>into</em> him or whatever, he definitely found him pretty enough to think about constantly. i mean, how could he not?</p><p>and like most people, he appreciated pretty things. </p><p> <em>it’s natural,</em> he would think to himself. <em>it’s natural to want to appreciate and celebrate pretty things.</em></p><p> and it was because of that that he had started the drawings.</p><p> he <em>wasn’t</em> a creep. in the same way as someone would draw a pretty flower or a pretty bird, vince would sit down in the back of a classroom and draw a pretty jock-himbo who he never thought in a million years would speak to him.</p><p> the same jock-himbo who’s house he was going to that night.</p><p> and who wanted to see his sketchbooks.</p><p> <em>fuck.</em></p><p> he could tear them out? but he <em>really</em> didn’t want to do that. for starters, he could risk damaging his books, which were, like, the <em>only</em> thing that mattered to him. plus, jfk would probably notice that pages had been torn out. besides, he really didn’t want to lose the jfk drawings - a lot of them were honestly some of his best work.</p><p> so instead, vince hoped against all hope that he could somehow hide the drawings from jfk. in case, you know, he called him a creep. which, again, he totally <em>wasn’t</em>. or in case he thought vince was, like, into him or something. which, again, he clearly wasn’t.</p><p> “i’m going out!” vince yelled to no one in particular as he grabbed his art stuff and slammed his bedroom door shut. he didn’t even think anyone was home - no one ever really was anymore - but it just seemed like the right thing to do.</p><p>after a good ten minutes of standing outside jfk’s place in silence, as if something was going to happen and he could be conveniently swallowed by the ground to avoid another awkward encounter, vince gave in and knocked. </p><p> no answer.</p><p> he knocked again, a little harder this time. he was very small, and therefore pretty weak. maybe he hadn’t anticipated how hard he would need to knock.</p><p> but still, no answer.</p><p> he rang the doorbell. that had to stay at the same volume each time, right? </p><p> and yet, no answer. </p><p> he checked his watch. 8:04. he started shaking ever so slightly, annoyed. while he was sure jfk couldn’t care less about him being a few minutes late, he <em>really</em> liked being on time for things. he checked once again. 8:05.</p><p> he knocked, checked, rang the bell, over and over again, until he couldn’t take it. he pushed the door open himself, and was surprised to find jfk and two men, who he assumed were jfk’s foster dads, watching will &amp; grace. completely oblivious to the endless knocking that had been going on so close to where they were sitting.</p><p> “there you are, pipsqueak.” he checked his bare wrist. “you’re, er, late. everything okay?”</p><p> while vince was slightly pissed about the whole late thing, he couldn’t help but noticed jfk’s surprised but happy expression, and as per usual he turned a bright shade of pink.</p><p> as jfk stood up and grabbed vince by the shoulder to drag him to his room, vince couldn’t help but notice one of the men raise his eyebrows at the other. they shared a look. although it was probably nothing, vince found himself overthinking.</p><p> and jfk was watching <em>will &amp; grace.</em> and, like, <em>enjoying</em> it. did that mean..? vince shook it off. he couldn’t get hopeful. everytime he got hopeful, he got let down.</p><p> plenty of straight people like will &amp; grace, right?</p><p> “so er. this is where the magic happens!” jfk laughed for a few seconds, before stopping after realising his joke wasn’t as funny as he originally thought.</p><p> “it’s...nice.” vince didn’t really know what to say. he looked around, doing everything within his power not to think about previous events that would have taken place here. because, again, he <em>wasn’t</em> a creep. “i like your posters.”</p><p>he really did. cat stevens, led zeppelin, duran duran, the kinks, blondie. the guy had taste.</p><p> and <em>bowie</em>. god, he couldn’t help but wonder if jfks’s particularly gay music taste had anything to do with his orientation. but again, he was getting his hopes up. he shouldn’t do that.</p><p> and then, there were the movies. the rocky horror picture show, grease. lot of molly ringwald. vince didn’t know what he was expecting, but this definitely wasn’t it.</p><p> “you er, into that?” he was referring to one particular poster, which vince had apparently been staring at for the last few minutes. it was <a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/1ZCfz7e08-rFctzNtVQRTC4PU-Cg_ueKW/view?usp=drivesdk">a particularly attractive queen poster</a>, and it was stuck to jfk’s ceiling.</p><p> i mean, come on. he really didn’t want to read too much into anything. but the man had a queen poster on his ceiling.</p><p> “yeah. yeah, i have the same poster. actually. back at home.” he blushed, hard, hoping that wasn’t as suggestive to him as it felt when he said it.</p><p> jfk simply nodded in approval and fell back on his bed, before sitting back up, patting the spot opposite him. “sit.”</p><p> the rest of the room was pretty standard. it was as cluttered as you’d think, and he had more clothes lying around the floor and piled up on his bed than he had in his wardrobe. his lights seemed to be slightly too dim, and his plain white bedding was a little too big for his large bed. he had a reasonably impressive vinyl collection, but his record player was pretty outdated. not outdated as in ‘cool and vintage’, but outdated. despite the chaos and clutter of the rest of the room, his few schoolbooks were stacked neatly in a pile on the floor by his desk,  probably untouched. </p><p>realising he had, as usual, been staring and not responding, vince shrugged quickly and sat opposite jfk, trying not to think about how he was on <em>jfk’s</em> bed. and the previous people that had been on jfk’s bed. and the previous events that had taken place on jfk’s bed.</p><p> god, he needed, like, a shower or something.</p><p>"we still don't have anything for the , uh, project. talk to me, little man." jfk looked at vince expectantly, which didn't do wonders for his nerves.</p><p> "oh. uh, okay. well i don't exactly have anything yet, i figured i'd ask what you wanted to do first. actually. but if you don't, like, have anything, that's okay. i can wing it, or, um, <em>we</em> can wing it. or not, that's, like, okay too."</p><p>"we have to talk about our clone parents, right? what, er uh, inspires us about them?"</p><p> "mhm."</p><p> "hmm. nothing." he grinned, and grabbed the bag vince had brought with him, tossing it to the floor. "let's watch tv or something."</p><p>and, okay, vincent was meant to be responsible. he knew that, everyone knew that. even jfk probably knew that. but this project was <em>so easy</em>. like, they could get it done in minutes. and how could he pass up a chance to hang out with <em>jfk</em>? he couldn't. not trusting himself to speak anymore, he nodded and smiled slightly. jfk lay back down and gestured for vince to lay next to him. after some deliberation and plenty of blushing, he complied, trying not to have a heart attack as the two guys lay inches from eachother.</p><p>"you ever see the rocky horror picture show?"</p><p> vince swore he nearly fainted. no. sorry, but no. he could take the getting asked over and the gay posters and the lying on the guy's bed, but <em>this?</em> the rocky horror picture show? yeah, no. too much.</p><p> "uh, something else maybe?"</p><p> jfk looked genuinely disappointed which did make vince feel kinda bad... but. yeah, no. "shame. i always liked their, uh, outfits."</p><p> vince almost fucking choked. this whole day was <em>definitely</em> some weird fever dream or something. still, he definitely made a mental note to draw jfk in some of those costumes when he would have a chance. </p><p> god, how fucking pretty would that be?</p><p> as if reading his mind, jfk jumped off the bed suddenly and grabbed vince's bag again, this time pulling out his sketchbooks. "we never went through your drawings!"</p><p>for what must have been the millionth time that day, vince turned a dark shade of pink. "no, we didn't." he tugged on his sleeve a little to calm his nerves, but it wasn't really working. he took a deep breath and prepared himself for what was about to happen.. when a piece of paper fell out of the book, right onto jfk's bed.</p><p> oh.</p><p> <em>oh.</em></p><p> oh fuck.</p><p> "what's-"</p><p> "um, that's-"</p><p> "can i, err-"</p><p> "it's nothing! it's, um, nothing."</p><p> "uh read it?"</p><p> vince looked panicked for a moment, before weighing his options. considering everything jfk could have found in that book, this was pretty tame. and he so desperately wanted jfk to like him, and not think he was, like, hiding something. which he totally was, but still.</p><p> he shrugged in a way that he hoped seemed nonchalant, and nodded.</p><p>"dear everyone" jfk read out slowly, before realising how long it would take him to read out the whole thing.</p><p> "yeah, it's probably best that you read it in your head."</p><p> after six long minutes, jfk looked up. "uh."</p><p> "yeah."</p><p> "you okay, little guy?" he looked genuinely concerned, which made vince's heart melt. </p><p> "yeah. yeah, i'm okay."</p><p> "are you s-"</p><p> "we don't. have to talk about it. i'd rather we didn't, actually."</p><p> jfk nodded, and looked away for a second, before turning back and grinning. "er, annie hall?"</p><p> vince smiled in relief. "yeah, annie hall."</p><p>━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━</p><p>"diane keaton, man." jfk sighed as the end credits came on. </p><p> "hot. cool outfits." vince nodded in agreement, shoving a handful of m&amp;ms into his mouth.</p><p> "<em>right?</em> like, she killed that." jfk was glad that vince was finally starting to relax. he didn't mean to, like, scare the guy or anything.</p><p> "and. woody. allen." </p><p>“yeah?”</p><p> "<em>yeah</em>. weird choice, i know. but come on."</p><p> he was so relaxed, in fact, that he had managed to admit his attraction to <em>woody allen</em>.</p><p> "not my type, but i er uh. guess i see it."</p><p> vince sat up in the bed and watched as jfk walked over to the tv and took the dvd out of the player. he raised an eyebrow. "so who <em>is</em> your type, jfk?"</p><p> jfk raised an eyebrow back. "anything with a pulse." he paused thoughtfully as vince laughed. "okay but for real. uh. molly ringwald." vince nodded, either in agreement or encouragement, jfk couldn't really tell. "winona ryder. every chick in a clockwork orange. janis joplin. susan sarandon."</p><p> "hmm. of course." vince remembered his affection for rocky horror.</p><p> jfk hesitated a bit, before deciding he could trust the guy. "uh...roger taylor."</p><p> "yeah?"</p><p> "yeah."</p><p> vince looked deep in thought for a moment, and briefly went back to the blushing thing, before managing to compose himself. "have to say i'm a freddie guy myself."</p><p> "yeah?"</p><p> "uh huh. like, i'd fuck roger. obviously, who wouldn't? and brian has the whole hair thing down, and john deacon is just. john fucking deacon, you know?"</p><p> "i, er, know!" jfk knew he'd have to keep responding to save the guy from rambling.</p><p> "but there's just something... i don't know, man. he's just, freddie, you know?"</p><p> "believe me, i know."</p><p> jfk climbed back into the bed, and turned towards vince, asking the question that was probably on both of their minds. "so. you, er uh, gay?"</p><p> vince blushed, meaning that, yeah, it had been on his mind too. he hesitated briefly, before giving in. "painfully so. you?"</p><p> jfk sighed. "i don't know, man." he paused. "joanie thinks i might be, uh, bi or something."</p><p> "yeah. yeah, i can see that." he looked up to the poster on the ceiling, and then at the others around the room. "i can <em>definitely</em> see that."</p><p> jfk smirked. "yeah, there's a reason i don't invite girls back here."</p><p> "only guys?"</p><p> he shook his head. "only, uh, friends. hey, vincey?"</p><p> "hm?"</p><p> "wanna stay over?"</p><p> vince blushed, before shaking it off and nodding. "was hoping you'd ask that."</p><p> "good! joan is coming over for a bit soon, but she, er, can't stay. got a girlfriend or something. you two know eachother, or?"</p><p> "joan? yeah i think i know joan."</p><p> "well, you, er, will soon." he smirked. "hey, vin?"</p><p> "yeah?"</p><p> "you have the same, er, queen poster? yeah?"</p><p> "yeah, and <em>many</em> like it."</p><p> "cool. do you ever..."</p><p> "do i ever?..."</p><p> "you know... to the poster."</p><p>"<em>oh</em>."</p><p>"like, that's, er uh, normal. right?"</p><p>vince blushed more, but laughed. "yeah. yeah, man, i do. it's normal."</p><p>━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━</p><p>"you guys jerk off together yet?" joan deadpanned, in replacement of a greeting.</p><p> "i- what?" vince panicked. did she know, somehow, that he was gay? like, he was meant to keep that a secret, right? was it obvious? had jfk been communicating with her telepathically or something? <em>fuck</em>, was that a thing? were they talking about him?</p><p> "relax, short-stack." he reassured the guy, laughing, but he leaned in and whispered "i'd be down, though." it was so quick and out-of-nowhere that vince was sure he'd imagined it, but he would definitely have a lot to think about.</p><p> jfk went to hug joan, who rolled her eyes and hugged him back, before turning to vince. "vince, right?"</p><p> "yeah." jfk answered for him. "he's my, er, project partner."</p><p> "i see. don't let him work you too hard, man. make him do some of the work too."</p><p> "i plan on it, don't worry" vince finally joined the conversation, having recovered from the jerk off comment. well, mostly. it was so obviously a joke, yet here he was getting pathetically flustered. it was honestly sad.</p><p>"so, you guys came over to study, but ended up watching movies in bed? how responsible." she turned to vince. "he show you the <em>collection</em> yet?"</p><p> "<em>joan</em>. do you, er, have to ruin <em>every</em> friendship i have?"</p><p> "well, the popular kids won't listen to me, jackie boy. vincent here, however, will." she turned to him again. "no offence, obviously."</p><p> "none taken." vince was taken aback. friendship? so, they were friends now? he had a friend? and, wait, what <em>collection</em>? "what d'you mean <em>collection</em>?"</p><p> "this is good. you wanna tell him, jfk? or should i?"</p><p> "i uh. guess i'll do it."</p><p>jfk gestured to the others to follow him, as he left his room and turned to a door next to his own, which vince hadn't noticed when he arrived.</p><p> "this is the, er uh, <em> jfk-cave!</em>" he sounded very proud and excited when he opened the door. it was adorable.</p><p> "or the jf-kave" joan added.</p><p> right, joan was there. he almost forgot.</p><p> jfk dragged the two into the "cave", which was really just a small, square room (or very large cupboard). the floors were lined entirely with bedsheets and cushions, which made vince thankful he had taken his shoes off earlier. it was dark, even darker than the bedroom. there was a single lamp, but that sat in the corner hardly making any difference. next to the lamp was jfk's walkman, the one vince had seen him around school with. there were piles of tapes scattered everywhere, seemingly at random.</p><p> the walls were lined completely with posters, including the majority of the ceiling. the few spaces that weren't taken up had been filled with sharpie drawings and writing, probably mostly done by joan and jfk themselves, since vince got the impression that most of jfk's popular 'friends' (as in, the people he hung out with at school) wouldn't be seen dead in here. the posters were, as expected, even cooler than the ones in the bedroom. more led zeppelin, some grateful dead, pink floyd, joy division, van halen. he even saw some billy joel, which he chose not to comment on. and, of course, <em>many</em> more queen posters.</p><p> he really hadn't been kidding about the whole roger taylor thing.</p><p>leaning against the back wall of the cave was a cabinet, which jfk walked them over to. there were more tapes (which were left just as disorganised as the last), some other vinyl records, and a couple books. </p><p> huh. apparently jfk could read.</p><p> but in the bottom draw, which required a key that jfk kept around his neck, was the real stuff. alcohol, cigarettes, raisins, weed. countless porn magazines and tapes, which he seemed to pride himself on. and...makeup.</p><p> <em>loads</em> of makeup. like, a fuck tonne.</p><p> “you wear makeup?” vince was the first person to actually speak since they arrived in the room. the two rolled their eyes jokingly, as if he’d disrupted the peace or something, before jfk responded.</p><p> “yeah. i’m, er, actually getting pretty good at it.</p><p> joan flopped onto one of the cushions on the floor, and reached for the walkman. “hey, jfk. where’s the tape i mixed you?”</p><p> without hesitation, jfk responded. “second one in the fourth pile to your right.”</p><p> joan rolled her eyes. “of course.” she put the tape in and pressed play.</p><p> the talking died down again as “being for the benefit of mr kite!” began to play, and the three started collectively singing and humming along. </p><p>jfk lay down in the middle of the floor, and vince sat to the side, eyeing the closed cabinet and making a mental note to ask jfk more about the makeup later.</p><p> as the song ended, and something else from the same album started playing, joan started the conversation up again. </p><p> “okay. fuck, marry, kill. paul, george and ringo?”</p><p> vince was confused. “why not lennon?”</p><p> joan rolled her eyes again. god, she did that a lot. “lennon was a terrible fucking person.”</p><p> “yeah, he was, uh, really racist.” jfk chimed in.</p><p> “and he abused his wife.”</p><p> “and his kid?”</p><p> “i’m glad he’s dead.”</p><p> “me too.”</p><p> “ah. yeah, totally.” vince didn’t really know what they were talking about, but agreed nonetheless.</p><p> “okay i’ll go first.” jfk seemed excited. “fuck paul, obviously.” </p><p> “obviously” replied joan and vince, almost in unison.</p><p> “marry george, kill ringo.”</p><p> “i have to agree.” joan stated, as the final few lines of “when i’m sixty-four” played out.</p><p> “yeah, same here.”</p><p> the three listened to the music in near-silence and looked deep in thought for around 10 minutes, before jfk decided it was time for him to start the conversation again.</p><p>“okay.” he sat up. “fuck, marry, kill. er, everyone in this room.”</p><p> “oh yeah, we have three people now! i guess... fuck you, marry me, kill vince.” she turned to vince. “no offence, vince.”</p><p> “again, none taken.”</p><p> “i would... kill myself, marry joan and, er, fuck vincey.”</p><p> vince had to try SO hard to keep his cool after that, but that one was thankfully a bit of a stretch. it was just a stupid game, after all. “uh, fuck jfk, kill myself, marry joan? i guess?” he turned to joan. “no offence, joan.”</p><p> she smirked. “none taken, man.”</p><p> “hey guys. does anyone wanna, uh, have sex?!” jfk asked suddenly, catching vince off guard. but somehow, joan hardly even noticed.</p><p> “can’t. got a girl now, remember?”</p><p> “bummer.” he turned to vince. “vincey?”</p><p> vince turned all <em>kinds</em> of red. “um, nah.”</p><p> “aw man. okay, could you guys leave for, er, 15 minutes? i’ll tell you when you can come back in.”</p><p> joan, who was clearly used to this bizarre arrangement by now, just got up and left without a second thought, dragging vince with her.</p><p>━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━</p><p>“is he?...”</p><p> “uh huh.”</p><p> “and he’s gonna?”</p><p> “uh huh”</p><p> “in <em>there</em>?” </p><p>“yes. anyways.” joan sat on the edge of jfk’s bed, gesturing for vince to do the same. “level with me. how long have you been into jfk?”</p><p>“<em>into?</em> i’m not-”</p><p> “please, spare me. i may hang out with jfk, but that doesn’t make me a complete fucking idiot. you’re practically infatuated, it’s weird.”</p><p> “i-”</p><p> “still talking.” she sat down on the edge of jfk’s bed, gesturing for vince to do the same, and highered her voice slightly to drown out the slight moans coming from next door. “look, i’d help you, but i don’t want you to get hurt, man. you seem nice. jfk’ll just curb stomp your fucking heart. it’s no use, the guy can’t be held back. he’ll break you like he breaks everyone else that tries to get serious with him. so just don’t try anything, man. capisce?”</p><p> vince paused, before the moaning started back up. <em>god</em> that was weird. “capisce. think he’ll be done soon?”</p><p> as if on cue, jfk entered the room, triumphant and kinda sweaty. “you can, err, come back in now.”</p><p>━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━</p><p>joan looked at her watch, and did a double take. “oh <em>fuck</em>. i gotta go, you guys.” she pecked jfk on the cheek and stood up from the floor of the cave, where the three had been lying again (trying not to think about the events in there that occurred moments before). “bye losers.”</p><p> jfk nodded. “make sure you get laid.”</p><p> she winked. “believe me, i will.” she turned and nodded at vince, who waved his hand a bit in response. </p><p> and then, they were alone again.</p><p> “okay.” jfk flipped over so he was lying on his stomach, opposite vince, with his legs in the air. “what’s your, er, favourite john hughes movie?”</p><p>"ferris bueller's day off." vince answered without a beat. "only acceptable choice."</p><p> jfk nodded in approval. "you're right. matthew broderick? alan ruck? mia sara? fucking <em>jennifer grey?</em> it's, like, er, porn but better."</p><p> "<em>literally</em>. but why'd you ask?"</p><p> "figured we could watch something else? if you're, er, sure you want to stay over i mean." he actually blushed. jfk was actually fucking blushing. why was he doing that? he <em>didn't</em> do that. "hey, vince?"</p><p> jfk ignored the slight look of disappointment on vince's face when he didn't call him by some dumb nickname again. he must have just imagined it.</p><p> "yeah?"</p><p> "we're, er, friends right?"</p><p> "why'd you ask?"</p><p> that wasn't a yes. <em>fuck.</em> that wasn't a yes. jfk had been kidding himself, thinking he'd found someone in that stupid school other than joan who was worth being, like, actually friends with. someone else he didn't have to force himself to hang out with just for his image. did vince even <em>like</em> him? like, he must seem so fucking weird, inviting him over out of the blue like that, constantly making the conversation weird and slightly sexual.</p><p> vince looked panicked as jfk's face fell. "jfk? are you okay?"</p><p> "what?! i'm, uh, fine. fine. just fine."</p><p> "dude. of course we can be friends." he looked hopeful for a sec. "you really want that?"</p><p> "<em>yeah?</em> yeah, i want that vinnie."</p><p> "okay." he smiled encouragingly. "and i'm staying. there's no way in hell you're getting rid of me."</p><p> relieved, and slightly embarrassed from his random outburst, jfk pulled out a sheet from the cabinet and hung it up on one of the cave walls. he then took out a projector, a fucking <em>projector</em>, and inserted the tape for ferris bueller's day off. he turned around and winked at vince, who was watching in awe.</p><p> "exaclty how rich are you?"</p><p> jfk laughed. "i guess i'm pretty lucky." he pressed play and fell backwards, next to vince. although vince was slightly disappointed that they weren't curled up in his bed together this time, lying next to him on the floor of such a dark room was honestly just as nice.</p><p> as the movie started, the two fell silent and watched.</p><p> cameron was just prank calling the teacher, when vince directed his attention away from the movie. jfk, who was unaware that he was being watched, continued to stare at the screen. vince watched jfk's face in the dark, which was illuminated only by the light coming from the screen. </p><p>he looked fucking <em>ethereal</em>. he wasn't acting like he did at school, always being a dick to everyone and pretending to be meaner than he actually was. he looked genuinely comfortable, happy even. god, vince would do anything to just, like, reach out and touch his face.</p><p> but instead, he did the next best thing.</p><p> praying jfk wouldn't notice him, he reached in his bag for his sketchbook.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AHHCKSHBVKS i hope this is okay i kinda really like it</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. like i'm some kind of cheese</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“<em>pardon my french, but you’re an asshole!</em>“</p><p> this was honestly one of the best scenes in the movie, but vince chose to spend it doing what he’d been itching to do pretty much all evening. which was, of course, drawing jfk.</p><p> jfk was perfectly fixated on the screen, so much so that it was probably unlikely that he’d even notice he was being drawn. the screen lit up his face, and contrasted with the dark surroundings. every-so-often, when something particularly funny or interesting he would laugh. not just laugh, but like, <em>laugh</em>.</p><p> watching jfk laugh properly was a rare experience, but it was more than worth the wait.</p><p> he would close his eyes, tilt his head back, and <em>guffaw</em>. like, the guy actually <em>guffawed</em>. it was loud and obnoxious and contagious and, undoubtedly, adorable.</p><p> and not only did vince get to witness that, he got to draw it.</p><p>vince froze as jfk started talking, but thankfully his attention stayed on the screen in front of them the whole time.</p><p> "that's, er, one of my favourite scenes." he said loudly, between laughter. “the teacher is so stupid!”</p><p> <em>ferris slid into view as cameron starts to get sick of the call. "bueller. ferris bueller."</em></p><p> jfk sighed. he glanced at vince for a second, and turned back to the screen, before doing a double take.</p><p> was he-</p><p> was vincey <em>drawing</em> him?</p><p> vince hummed in response, too busy concentrating on the drawing to focus on whatever jfk was saying.</p><p>vincey was <em>drawing</em> him, and he didn't know that he knew.</p><p> he couldn't help but blush. vince was drawing <em>him</em>. he looked at the drawing for a second, before turning back to the screen so vince wouldn't find out he knew and be, like, embarrassed or something. but vince was drawing <em>him</em>. he was drawing him and it was fucking amazing. he <em>knew</em> vince had to be good at art.</p><p> jfk tried to concentrate on the movie again, but knowing how he was being watched? and <em>drawn?</em> yeah, it was a little difficult. still, he owed it to vince to at least act like he had no idea.</p><p>━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━</p><p> "god, that fucking movie man." after vince had finished drawing jfk, he had allowed himself to get back to concentrating on the film. </p><p>"i <em>know</em>." jfk agreed. he was trying his best not to be awkward around vince, but it was a little weird, seeing himself being drawn like that. like, vinnie was planning on showing him eventually, right? he had to be, why else would he be drawing him?</p><p> he shook it off. whatever, he was probably just overreacting. vince was doing something <em>nice</em> and <em>awesome,</em> he shouldn't be weirded out, right?</p><p> "hey vincey?"</p><p>"hm?" </p><p> without a word, jfk walked over to the cabinet, took the key from around his neck, unlocked it, and took out two beers. he threw one across the room for vince to catch (with difficulty), and opened the one in his hand with his <em>teeth</em>, before returning to sit where he had been lying. he crossed his legs and turned slightly so he was facing vince, and took a large gulp, before talking again. "sorry it's not, er, cold. have to walk past my dads to get to the fridge." he downed some more. "they don't let me drink on a school night."</p><p> vince eyed the bottle almost suspiciously as if he expected it to jump out at him or something. jfk blushed, wondering if he'd done something wrong. "not your, uh, brand? my dads have some other stuff in the basement, i guess we could-"</p><p> "no. no, it's fine." vince reassured him. "i don't really drink, is all. and, wait, it's a school night?"</p><p> "thursday, right?" jfk furrowed his brows as he reached for vince's beer. he was sure he was right, if it was friday he was meant to have done his abs and legs. god, he didn't miss abs and legs day <em>again</em> did he?</p><p> "no yeah, you're probably right. it's just <em>weird</em>, staying up till-" he looked around the room for a clock, before remembering the watch on his wrist. "till four."</p><p> <em>four?</em> even jfk hadn't realised it was that late.</p><p> "it's four? even <em>i</em> didn't realise it was that, er, late." jfk tossed the now-empty bottle to the side and opened vince's, downing it in a few seconds. he saw vince's look of shocked awe and smirked. "i didn't get any tonight, may as well at least get, er, drunk. yaknow?"</p><p> "your teeth must be so strong-"</p><p> jfk raised an eyebrow at the implication of that. "you have <em>no</em> idea." he laughed, before getting up to grab yet another lukewarm beer.</p><p> "you're gonna be hungover in school."</p><p> "yeah, well. what else is new."</p><p> vince looked genuinely concerned at that, which made jfk's heart melt. "it's fine, short-stack." he punched himself in the chest and straightened his back, grinning. "i'm not some lightweight."</p><p> vince nodded, turning his attention to the posters on the wall, which he still hadn't <em>really</em> had time to look at.</p><p>“it’s funny, i never had you pegged for a blondie fan. but now, like thinking about it, it makes a lotta sense.”</p><p> “there’s, uh, a lot more to me than meets the eye, man.” he winked. “besides, it’s not like you actually knew me, until now.” he looked deep in thought for a moment. “i mean, you still don’t. not really.”</p><p> “well i’d like to.”</p><p> jfk hummed and nodded in response, before grinning. “hey, did you know that bowie flashed his, er uh, johnson, when he toured with blondie?” </p><p>“he what?-”</p><p> jfk nodded excitedly. he really liked this story. “iggy and david were looking for blow, cause their dealer had like, <em>died</em> or something.”</p><p> “naturally.”</p><p> “yes, as you do. and debbie harry had a tonne left which she gave to them, and i don’t know.” he laughed. “he was just so grateful that he, like, pulled out his cock.”</p><p> “naturally.”</p><p> “yes, as you do.” jfk reached for one the piles of tapes and fiddled around, till he found his copy of parallel lines. while being the obvious choice, he always thought parallel lines was, like, <em>way</em> better than any of their other albums. even though it was more pop-like than the others, which jfk usually <em>hated</em>, this album in particular was just..awesome.</p><p> “was it good?” vince asked suddenly, as the opening words of <a href="https://youtu.be/yKhq5-bHyvo">hanging on the telephone</a> started to play.</p><p>jfk scrunched his face in confusion as he lay back down, his arms behind his head. “was what good?”</p><p> “bowie’s cock.” vince actually lowered his voice, as if someone could have been listening. “was bowie’s cock good?”</p><p>jfk choked. “you mean was it, like, nice?”</p><p> “yeah.”</p><p> “i mean, debbie herself said it was, er uh, nice.” he blushed slightly. “but like, come on. it’s <em>bowie.</em>”</p><p> vince grinned. “good point, man.”</p><p> the two listened to the rest of the song in silence, both of them trying not to think about david bowie’s cock.</p><p> “<em>woah! hang up and run to me! woah! hang up and run to me</em>”</p><p> “okay.” vince was laughing. “but was it, like, <em>big?</em>”</p><p> jfk laughed too, as the song ended and <a href="https://youtu.be/3rx-OcZaSkA">the next one</a> started playing. “of <em>course,</em> man.” while vince hadn’t been paying attention, jfk had somehow produced two more beers, and was proceeding to open one of them. “you sure you don’t want one?”</p><p> “positive.”</p><p> jfk shrugged and took a gulp, before smirking. “you still thinking about bowie’s johnson?”</p><p> “of course.”</p><p> “me too, man. me. too.”</p><p> “what about you?” vince found himself asking, before turning a deep shade of red. god, anyone would think <em>he</em> was the drink one.</p><p> “what, er, about me?”</p><p> “is it, like, big?” vince cringed hard at his own question, but (unsurprisingly) jfk didn’t seem to mind at all.</p><p> “what do you think?”</p><p> vince’s eyes widened ever-so-slightly and he nodded. “point taken.”</p><p> “well, what about you?”</p><p> vince rolled his eyes. “what do you think?”</p><p> jfk laughed, before sort of patting vince’s shoulder awkwardly. vince was kind of hoping he would be too drunk to remember this conversation.</p><p>━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━</p><p>“oh, hey!” jfk sat up suddenly, his sixth beer still in his hand. somehow, the two had dozed off together while listening to the album. he winced immediately, realising he probably should have been more quiet. not just because of the <em>awful</em> headache he had (which really, he should have seen coming). but also because of the tiny guy who had fallen asleep in his lap. jfk smiled as he looked down at him. his mouth was slightly open and he slept curled up in a ball, significantly reducing the already tiny amount of space he would have taken up.</p><p> jfk would have liked to stare at the sleeping guy all day, but he knew he had to wake him up.</p><p> “vincey. dude.” he shook the guy awkwardly, until he woke up. realising the position they had somehow ended up in, vince blushed a bit and moved away from jfk as soon as he woke up. “woah dude. sorry. about that.”</p><p> “it’s cool.” vince replies quickly, hoping jfk wouldn’t notice him shaking. “i’m gonna take a wild guess. and say we’re late to school.”</p><p> “bingo.” jfk sighed. “i think i could call joan, she could tell ‘em we’re, er, off sick.”</p><p> “you guys have <em>cell phones?</em>”</p><p> jfk grinned. “yeah, yeah we have cell phones. d’you wanna go back to sleep, maybe?” he couldn’t help but notice the dark circles around vince’s eyes, but for all he knew those could have been permanent.</p><p> “i’m good.”</p><p> “you sure? i can give you my bed, no problem. i can sleep in here, that way we don’t have to, er, be in the same room.” he didn’t want the guy to be uncomfortable.</p><p> “i’m good, really. you go back to sleep, you need it.”</p><p> jfk grinned gratefully. “you’re gonna be okay with being alone here for a bit? you won’t, like, leave while i’m sleeping, right?”</p><p> vince rolled his eyes. “wouldn’t do that, would i? go to sleep, jfk.”</p><p> “my friends call me jack.” jfk responded, his eyes already closing.</p><p> “okay.” vince nodded enthusiastically, smiling like an idiot. “sleep well, jack.” he took one last look at the <em>adorable</em> sleepy jfk, before putting on a random tape for him to sleep to.</p><p>━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━</p><p>like i said, vince was <em>not</em> a creep. which is why he was absolutely <em>not</em> going to stay in his new friend’s room while he slept.</p><p> nope. no way.</p><p> he wasn’t even thinking about it.</p><p> because he wasn’t a creep, and only a creep would want to watch someone sleep.</p><p> so, nope. he absolutely was <em>not</em> thinking about it. he wasn’t thinking about jfk (or <em>jack</em>) falling asleep. his eyes slightly open, a tiny bit of drool on his chin. his normally-perfect hair all fluffy and messed up. he wasn’t thinking about it.</p><p> okay? he wasn’t.</p><p> as much as he hated to admit it, though, it took <em>everything</em> within vince’s power not to go look at jfk while he slept. god, maybe he was a creep after all. it would be such a pretty sight, though. even just then, while the two of them had been half asleep, he just looked so fucking <em>pretty.</em> was it too much for vince to try and draw him like that? absolutely. but still, he kind of wished he could.</p><p> but, whatever. that didn’t matter. him and jack were friends now, and you don’t watch your friends sleep. and you <em>definitely</em> don’t <em>draw</em> them like that.</p><p> no way.</p><p> so, yeah. he wasn’t even thinking about it.</p><p>━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━</p><p>not knowing what else to do, vince walked around the house aimlessly for a few hours. he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when he found the house empty - the dads probably had work or something, <em>duh</em>. vince wasn’t really sure why he assumed they would still be there. but, thankfully, the house was completely empty. which meant he finally had an actual chance to look. </p><p>the hallways were, surprisingly enough, filled with photos of jfk with his foster parents. they looked like an actual family - there were photos of them on holiday, at concerts, even wearing stupid christmas sweaters. vince wondered what that would be like, to be close with your foster parents like that. his own foster mother never really cared much for him. but whatever, that wasn’t the point. there were photos of jfk in <em>christmas sweaters</em>. and he was, like, 12 or something in some of them, even younger in others.</p><p> it was fucking adorable.</p><p> there were album covers lining the walls too, most of which he assumed belonged to the dads. more queen, the beatles, bowie, creedence, jefferson airplane, pink floyd. gwen stefani, kylie, madonna, britney. abba, fleetwood mac, the bangles. avril lavigne. god, they had everything. at least everything worth having.</p><p>vince wasn’t “poor” by any stretch of the imagination. his foster mother was painfully middle class, and her bartending job meant they had enough to live off of without having to worry <em>too</em> much about rent or food. but still, vince would always wonder what it would be like to have, like, a record player or something. or just anything to listen to music on that wasn’t the shitty secondhand walkman he’d gotten for christmas four years ago. now that he was “friends” with jfk, maybe he could use the record player here? he smiled hopefully. that would be cool.</p><p> he walked into the kitchen. it was nice enough, and the flowers on the tiles on the wall were weirdly awesome, very 70s. vince didn’t know much about kitchen equipment, but their stuff looked very high tech and cool. but when he checked the cupboards they were near empty, and the fridge was mostly filled with soda, alcohol and leftover takeaways.</p><p> seeing the food suddenly made vince aware of how hungry he was. he’d been there, what, 12 hours now? and neither him nor jfk had eaten <em>anything.</em> </p><p> oh god, and jfk had drunk all that beer as well. vince shuddered in sympathy.</p><p> jack’s dads wouldn’t mind if he ate some of this, right?</p><p> he picked up some of the chinese from the higher shelf, and checked to make sure it was okay before putting it in the microwave.</p><p>when he got his food, he grabbed a fork from the draw and brought it with him as he continued to walk.</p><p> he now had a better look at the living room, and it was even more apparent to him just how <em>rich</em> they must have been. the tv, while modest looking, was modern and good quality, and also pretty big. he lay down on the pink couch and finished the food in his hands in silence, while staring at the rest of the photos on the walls. these ones had even <em>younger</em> jfk. like, he was a <em>toddler</em>. and, again, it was adorable.</p><p> he felt weird going back into the bedroom without jfk there, but he assured himself that he wouldn’t mind. he opened the door with a loud creaking sound, before letting himself into jfk’s bed. again, he figured jfk wouldn’t mind. and now that vince was alone, and not distracted by baby jfk photos, he could <em>finally</em> collect his thoughts.</p><p> because holy fuck.</p><p> this was real. he was partners with jfk. they were, like, <em>friends.</em> and he was in his <em>house.</em> in his <em>bed.</em> it was like the fucking twilight zone.</p><p>he had fallen asleep with jfk, on a bunch of pillows and blankets on the floor. </p><p> in the same clothes he had worn the previous day. and was still wearing.</p><p> oh <em>god.</em></p><p> praying he wouldn’t mind, vince jumped back out of the bed and grabbed one of jfk’s shirts from a nearby chair. the guy was way taller than him, probably double his height, so he figured he could do without pants. he found the bathroom and a clean towel, and finally got into the shower. like the rest of the house, the bathroom was pretty modest looking, considering how expensive he knew everything in there must be. </p><p> one of the main things vince noticed, though, was how <em>clean</em> everything was. not just the bathroom, but everything else. it was pretty cluttered, and there was the whole no-food thing, but the house as a whole was pretty clean. god, maybe they had, like, a <em>maid</em> or something. they could definitely afford one.</p><p> trying not to think of the implications of him showering in jfk’s house, <em>and</em> wearing one of his shirts, vince returned to the bedroom to find jfk in there, changing.</p><p> oh god, he was <em>changing?</em></p><p>after a beat, vince realised what was happening and covered his eyes, yelping. “shit. i’m sorry, i didn’t. god, i didn’t.. i should have knocked. i should have.. god, i’m sorry.”</p><p>jfk laughed. "it's cool. don't, er, worry so much dude." he eyed vince's attire approvingly. "you look good."</p><p> vince blushed slightly. "you don't mind, right? i didn't have any other clothes."</p><p> " 'course i don't mind, vincey." he left the room and vince followed him, not really sure of what else to do. jfk walked vince to the kitchen. "you eat?"</p><p> "mhm. hey, why aren't you, like, hungover?"</p><p> he poked vince's shoudler lightly. "told you i wasn't a lightweight." he stood on his tiptoes in order to reach the highest cupboard. "this is why i, uh, like being tall! no one can reach this cupboard but me." he pulled out a box of apple jacks cereal and placed it on the counter. he then opened the fridge and pulled out some milk from the door, and vince watched in horror as jfk poured the milk directly into the box, before shaking it around. he put the milk back in the fridge, grabbed a spoon from the draw, and took the box into the living room.</p><p> "i think they make you go to hell for that." vince broke the silence, joining jfk on the couch.</p><p> "who's 'they' ? the cereal gods?"</p><p> "yeah, the cereal gods." jfk took a mouthful from the box and vince made a point of looking away in disgust, pretending he was going to throw up.</p><p> jfk pushed the smaller guy lightly. "whatever." he turned to face forwards and stare at a spot on the wall, so they were no longer making eye contact. "so. you, er uh, get a chance to look around?"</p><p> "sorta. there's a lot to take in." jfk nodded, not really knowing what to say.</p><p>“hey, you’re, like, a jock or something. right?”</p><p> “right.”</p><p> “so where’s all your trophies and stuff?”</p><p>jfk got up and walked to a cabinet in the corner of the living room which, again, vince had barely even noticed. he opened it and nodded towards it, before taking another bite of his cereal.</p><p> “you don’t keep it displayed or whatever?”</p><p> jfk shook his head. “not for a while now.” he closed the cabinet again and walked back over to the sofa, where vince was still sitting. “i, er, uh, met joan. started hanging out with her.” he grinned. “made me realise how much i hated everything else about my life: the, er, people. the music i pretended to like. the sports thing is still kinda cool but-” he trailed off.</p><p> “but?” vince encouraged him, and he took another bite of cereal and chewed loudly and slowly before continuing.</p><p> “i wanna be creative, yaknow? like, er, artsy and stuff. like you and joan.”</p><p>“joan’s creative?”</p><p> he nodded. “she does these videos. i don’t understand them, but they, er, look pretty cool. think she also sings.”</p><p> “well..i could teach you? the creative thing, i mean. you don’t have to be talented from the start or anything, i can help you. it’ll be fun.”</p><p> “that’d be sweet.”</p><p> the two sat in content silence for a moment, before vince finally brought up the question he’d been dreading to ask. “so. what happens now? like when we get back to school?”</p><p>“you want me to, uh, tell the truth?” vince nodded and jfk hummed, before answering. “i go back to being the dumb jock that teases you occasionally but barely looks your way. i won’t talk to you, except for the, er, project. which we still have to work on, by the way.”</p><p> vince nodded and gestured for him to continue. “if i, er, pass you in the halls i’ll nod. but that has to be it.” </p><p> vince tried not to get upset. i mean, he saw it coming, right? that’s exactly what he expected, yet he was still disappointed.</p><p> “if you don’t mind.” jfk turned a bit so he was properly facing vince. “i’d, er, really like to be friends outside of school. you’re cool, and i don’t, uh, know many cool people. you, joan, the wee brown fella.” he paused for a second. “poncey.” vince rubbed his arm awkwardly, knowing it was a difficult topic for him. “but, er, yeah. i wasn’t kidding, short-stack. i really wanna be friends with you.”</p><p> vince smiled. “i’m down.”</p><p>━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━</p><p>“jack. you heard of blur?” it was a few hours later, and the two were sat on jfk’s bed, trying to finally concentrate on starting their project. as you can probably imagine, they still hadn’t got very far. like, at all. vince had been doodling the two of them with their clone fathers, and jfk had been scrunching up perfectly good blank pieces of paper and throwing them in the air.</p><p> “nope.” he picked up one of the paper-balls from the floor and aimed it at the bin across the room. it landed perfectly, of course.</p><p> “you haven’t? british band? hot lead singer?”</p><p> “never heard of em. we can, er uh, check my dads’ records?”</p><p> vince grinned. “bet.”</p><p> they went to the foster dads’ room and, sure enough, their record collection was <em>massive.</em> vince hadn’t even heard of, like, half of these bands, and he was sure wally and carl hadn’t either. </p><p> “i got it!” jfk yelled triumphantly, after digging around the “b” section for a few minutes. vince grinned at the familiar vinyl cover in jfk’s hands.</p><p> “you have the ‘best of’ album!”</p><p> jfk hummed and led vince back to his room, before playing the record. “are we starting from the beginning?”</p><p> vince nodded.</p><p> “sweet.”</p><p> the two sat back on jfk’s bed as <a href="https://youtu.be/lVdIGHZ-I28">beetlebum</a> started to play. they stayed silent for a moment until the chorus started. </p><p>
  <em>“and when she lets me slip away. she turns me on, all my violence is gone.”</em>
</p><p> “dude. i, er, love this!”</p><p> vince nodded happily. it sounded kinda stupid, but he was proud of himself for introducing jfk to something new, something he <em>loved.</em></p><p> “but what’s a beetlebum?”</p><p> vince grinned. “hell if i know.”</p><p>━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━</p><p>“it’s getting late, joan’ll be here soon.”</p><p> “you want me to go?”</p><p> “no! no, of course i don’t!” jfk actually looked disappointed. did he really want vince to stay?</p><p> “well, i do have a lot of homework.”</p><p> “get it and, er, bring it here?” he sounded hopeful.</p><p> “okay.”</p><p> “don’t leave yet though. one more song?”</p><p> vince nodded. “one more song.”</p><p> he smiled as soon as the song in question started playing. </p><p> “<a href="https://youtu.be/695a_WcdNb0">country house!</a>” he was excited. “a classic.”</p><p>“the instrumental sounds cool!” jfk sounded excited too, and the two fell silent as the words started.</p><p> <em>“city dweller! successful fella, thought to himself ‘oops, i’ve got a lot of money.’ caught in a rat race terminally.”</em></p><p>“wow.”</p><p> “i know.”</p><p> “<em>wow.</em>”</p><p> “i <em>know.</em>”</p><p> “it's-”</p><p> “completely awesome?”</p><p> jfk nodded, too stunned to say much else.</p><p> “god, i love them so much. and the lead? damon albarn? he's so fucking hot. <em>and</em> his accent is awesome.”</p><p> <em>“he lives in a house, a very big house in the country!”</em></p><p> “you ever, er, wanna have sex with a song? cause yeah. this is the song. i wanna take this song's virginity.”</p><p> “somehow i know <em>exactly</em> what you mean. and same.”</p><p>━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━</p><p>the song unfortunately came to an end, and vince let himself out of jfk's house. the walk back to his was surprisingly short, and he thanked any and every god that could ever exist that his foster mom wasn't home. god, he really didn't want to deal with <em>her</em> right now. he grabbed his homework and stuff, and he was going to bring a toothbrush, before deciding against it. he didn't want to seem too desperate, and he had already stayed over one night. it wasn't like he expected this to go on forever or something.</p><p> walking around his house now, after seeing jfk's, felt weird and uncomfortable. he liked his bedroom, sure, and his painting stuff. but jfk's house looked so..lived in. it felt more like a <em>home,</em> while his own place was more like an ikea showroom. it was probably the whole good-relationship-with-his-foster-parents thing. all those photos and stuff? he was sure his own foster mom didn't even <em>have</em> baby vincent photos. at least, he'd never seen any.</p><p> and, of course, the other main difference was the wealth. like seriously. their tv alone was probably more than enough to pay for vince's <em>house.</em></p><p> god, what if jack ever wanted to come over here? what the fuck would he tell him?</p><p> not wanting to think about that, he made his way back over to jfk's house. by the time he got there he remembered what happened last time, and decided it would probably be best for him to just let himself in again.</p><p>“van?” joan was standing in the corridor by herself, her arms crossed, with a worried look on her face. “what are you doing here? you can’t be here.”</p><p> “what?” oh god had he come at a bad time? should he have never left in the first place? maybe jfk was sick of him already and wanted joan to make sure he never returned? what if this whole thing had been a stupid trick? had there been cameras everywhere? he hadn’t seen any. but maybe there were tiny hidden ones. was he going to out him? or maybe he had just used him for the artwork for their project? which, okay, made more sense than the outing thing. what the fuck was happening?</p><p> “vincent. you can’t be here right now. just go.”</p><p> still absolutely petrified, vince nodded and walked away slowly, until he was out the door, before sprinting down the street as fast as he could.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i know i used music a lot these chapters, n i’m sorry i’ll probably start using it less in the future dw </p><p>i’m sorry if this took too long !! i think i’m gonna update this every saturday, if there even are people sticking around for new chapters lmao. anyways i hope this was okay:) ty for reading</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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